My lust-struck heart is thirsting for the forbidden 

By Kimathi bin Mutegi

I have been trying to write this for the past four days. It’s not the hunger in my tummy, heck no. I am so used to the pangs that they know that I do not feel them so they quit bothering me. In fact, I learnt the clever art of ignoring unpleasant stuff ages back after I realised that dwelling on them doesn’t help one bit. So what I do is black out anything that is beyond my control and then very smartly look for anything pleasant and magnify it.

For example, after going for a full day without a meal, I will totally ignore the rumbles and concentrate on how clean my few utensils look. I will look at my shiny sufuria and imagine how heavy a task it is for bachelors to maintain such. I will look at my upturned melamine plate and applaud my neatness. I will look at the blackening crack on it and think how responsible a man I am for having managed to stay with the plate for so long without it totally splitting into two. It works, most times though.

It is therefore not the emptiness in my tummy that’s slowing down my processor. On the contrary, I think it is the fullness of it. Yep, crammed with them highly restless butterflies and the silly things keep on fluttering all over, making me all so uncomfortable. I do not like it one bit my friend, not at all. See, when I split up with the mother to my boy, who my auntie Becky later took custody of – the boy that is, I swore never to let another girl get near my heart again.

Not that it was a heart shattering breakup or anything. Heck, no. I thoroughly wanted her to go but the toughest thing was telling her so. That is why I vowed never to get me into such a situation again. But it is a stupid thing I have, my heart that is. The other day, it saw and now is liking this girl more than is agreeable to my former arrangements. Her name is Flora and I met her at this party that I crashed into along Lower Kabete.

I had gone to those areas of Kenya on account of this free alcohol that my friend Kirungustu had been invited for. As it turned out, the host was a manufacturer of some spirit and he wanted ‘tasters’, to confirm that it was both healthy and portent enough before it was rolled out for commercial purposes. It was a clever ploy by the manufacturer, using a few monitored life dummies to check that the content’s mix was not lethal or detrimental to the globes of its consumers.

The plan was to give the drinks in small quantities and if anyone showed any signs other than those of drunkenness, then they would adjust the ingredient mix until they got the perfect concoction. By then, Kirungustu assured me, we would be so drunk from the free booze that I will thank him for a lifetime. Besides, the manufacturer was offering to pay hospital bills in case, just in case something unexpectedly went wrong like our bulbs beginning to dim or such.

It was with this that I took the short trip from my ‘cave’ in Uthiru to Kabete. Unfortunately, by the time I hooked up with Kirungustu, some meddling chief with a battalion of police officers had raided the industry and confiscated the booze. Said they later that the manufacturer was unlicensed and that the gauge contained enough chemicals to melt timber. I was mad but with no free booze to imbibe in, I strayed into the party I told you of earlier, which is where I met Flora.

She is not particularly striking, nope. As a matter of fact, she is not good looking at all. However, she has the best background I have ever seen, perhaps only rivalled by that of Linda the cop. That’s enough for me. Doesn’t matter that you would think the rest of her is not appealing. As I said earlier, I prefer to concentrate on the good. For example, her teeth are the colour of a very expensive jewellery, gold. Imagine how much dough some musicians spend to get those sort of teeth while here is Flora, with them original golden coloured dentures. Then there was her globes.

Each works independently and I find them pretty fascinating guessing which one was looking at me. I bet she must have a highly developed brain to be able to work out two images at a go. Then her face, well it sort of reminds me of some sea creature I saw on a picture during a biology class, terrifying. Two days ago, some fellow commented that she has a face ‘that only her mother can love’. But I told him he was very wrong because I was loving that face right there, which made that two of us, myself and her mother. She stared at me with her eyes, okay, one at a time and I have never felt so loved.

To top it all, she is not a gold digger. Yep. I scraped all the savings that I had and took her for a date at Gomorrah II club and restaurant, the classiest joint I could afford. Lord of mercy, thought me, she would go ordering those expensive sort of foods that ordinary Nairobi girls would go for like chips and the unaffordable chicken. Nope, she settled for ugali brown and maziwa mala. As I watched her golden teeth work on the gummy delicacy, softened by the rotten milk, I knew that my heart she had taken.

As I gazed at the heavy weave on her shapeless head, all I could see was the lovely litter of golden toothed, independent eyed, little tykes that we are going to have. One certain thing is that we will definitely birth some bad lookers, seeing that my contribution on that front won’t be helping matters anyway. But they will be our bad lookers. Meanwhile, I need you to let me go as I try to compose a song for my girl, my Flora.


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